Serendipity
by CatS81
Summary: Just what will it take to put a smile back on Spencer Jordan's face...?


**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'Waking the Dead' or any of its characters, the BBC has that honour – I'm just taking them out to play for a bit.

**Rating**: T, for language.

**Spoilers**: Nothing specific. This can be set in either S8 or S9, I think.

**A/N**: Gemenied wanted us to make Spencer happy…and I'm not sure whether this really counts but….Well, I guess you'll have to judge for yourself! ;)

* * *

I'm grumpy and I know it. The proverbial black cloud has been swirling around my head for days now and I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel, can't seem to grasp any impetus to let it go. I know they've all noticed, clocked how they've all been giving me a wide berth but I can't seem to help snapping at them anyway, lashing out with what I'm beginning to realise is most probably jealousy. The notion makes me snort with incredulous derision. I can't possibly be jealous. But the shards of bitterness lancing my gut would seemingly beg to differ.

I sigh heavily, not quite ready to believe it. For years Mel and Frankie would laugh and joke about it, gossiping with mischievous grins and shining eyes, and I would shake my head, jovially bemoaning the innate ability of women to make something out of nothing. It wasn't that I didn't want it to be true; I just didn't particularly want to think about it. I still don't particularly want to think about it. But it seems that fate has got other ideas.

The first time it happened I almost couldn't believe what I was seeing. Somehow I'd managed to forget my mobile and when I strode back in to the darkened bullpen some hours later to retrieve it, the low voices emanating from his office had caught my attention. I should have known better than to approach but something made me take a breath to announce my presence, the words cloying in my throat as my eyes absorbed the entwined figures through the tiny slit in the door. I don't think I have ever witnessed such an intense combination of passion and tenderness; one of his hands was tracing increasingly lower circles in the small of her back, the other caressing her cheek as they gently kissed, completely lost in each other and oblivious to every other stimulus in the universe. I found I couldn't draw my gaze from them despite every instinct telling me to do so, my mind at once unable to process what I was seeing, all those years of denial melting dramatically, spectacularly away.

I honestly don't know what I felt in that moment. For all the wild inappropriateness of the setting I'm not such a heartless cynic that some part of me wasn't happy for them; the depth of love emanating from them would have been evident to a blind man…but at the same time I had a niggling worm of what I've come to realise is probably resentment slithering caustically through my gut. I didn't want to look too closely at the reasons behind that particular sensation…so I stoically, forcefully tried to put the whole incident out of my mind. I struggled to look at either of them afterwards though, the memory of his mouth on hers etched unerringly into my consciousness as they went about their professional duties, no hint of impropriety even remotely evident in their conduct.

I had just about managed to accept what I had seen, had grudgingly admitted that if there were ever two people who deserved a little happiness then it was probably them, when it happened again. Admittedly that time it was completely out of context, to the point where I almost didn't recognise them; they were walking down a busy commercial promenade, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm as they huddled closely beneath an umbrella in the grey evening drizzle…and they were laughing. I don't think I've ever seen him look so relaxed, ever seen her look so radiantly contented…and again I was struck by an extraordinary intimacy even in this most ordinary of settings. I wish I could gruffly deny it but I was suddenly awash in a wave of infectious reflected joy, my lips curving upwards of their own accord as I shook my head in tacit acceptance, preparing to continue on my own journey when their abrupt change of direction caught my eye. They had slipped into a deserted alleyway, the umbrella dropping forgotten from his hand, his lips descending possessively on hers as he eased her backwards towards the wall, and within seconds they were kissing with such fierce enthusiasm that I actually felt myself start to blush, intensely embarrassed by my unexpected role as reluctant voyeur.

Since then I've found it increasingly difficult to be around them, my mind tormenting me with the image of their unselfconscious, easy ardency, neither of them seeming to care about the potential for being overlooked. It's clear when I think about it that this has been going on for a long, long time; they appeared far too connected for it to have been a recent development, and that thought makes me…undeniably bitter, the ugly tendrils threading through my consciousness and taking a constrictive hold about my heart.

Of course I want them to be happy. I'd be bloody warped if I wanted anything else. But at the same time…I wonder how it is, that after all of the trauma, all of the heartache, all of the persistent, pervading darkness, they have somehow managed to make it work. That they've somehow managed to find that tiny glimmer of hope, of humanity in the depths of each other's despair…and why the fuck it is that I've never been able to do the same. They recognise the damage in each other, I appreciate that, and maybe it's about healing, about atonement…but I wonder what I ever did to mean I've never been able to find that in equivalency.

I'm not trying to compare my own personal demons to theirs; Christ knows they've had more than enough to last a lifetime. And all this self-indulgent angst makes me want to bang my head repeatedly off my desk…but I can't seem to quite let it go. Can't seem to get over the fact that even someone as fucked up as him can find someone as faultless as her to redeem him…and I can't shake the feeling that the same will never happen for me. Stupidly, it's made me jealous, petty and morose instead of elated, relieved and thankful. Not exactly conducive to a productive working environment or a healthy friendship.

The door to the bullpen swings open then and I glance upwards, momentarily unable to believe my eyes at the identity of the person who has just stepped nervously across the threshold. If I believed in God I'd be down on my knees in incredulous gratitude…but I've seen too much over the years to give any credence to the concept of faith…so I simply smile to myself at the unbelievable irony, given my present train of thought and rise slowly from my seat.

My visitor smiles uncertainly and tucks a stray strand of mahogany hair behind her ear. "I lost your number," she opens somewhat sheepishly, "and given the history I didn't want to ring the office. Dragging up the past isn't really my style."

I step towards her, my heart pummelling my ribcage. "Boyd's not here. He and Grace left an hour ago."

She raises a questioning eyebrow, obviously reading my tone. "Together?"

I snort, unable to stop myself. "Sickeningly so."

She smiles…and I don't think I've ever seen anything quite so beautiful, quite such a balm to my tormented spirit. "Well….I'm glad they at least finally saw the light."

I'm unable to stop myself as I pull her roughly into my arms. "I've missed you, Frankie," I murmur thickly into her hair, the words sticking resolutely to the walls of my throat as I suddenly find myself fighting back a powerful urge to cry.

"How are things, Spence?" she asks, concern etched into her features as she pulls away to survey me.

"Complete shit," I tell her honestly, feeling myself smile as she gives a trademark throaty chuckle.

"Good," she replies laconically. "You'll have plenty to tell me over a pint then, won't you?"

"Four years' worth."

Her smile is crooked; there are more wrinkles around her eyes than I remember. "Mutual therapy. It's good for the soul."

I follow her without needing to say any more, everything since Mel threatening to spill from my lips in an instant but I hold myself in check, knowing suddenly that there is time. That this is _the _time. I feel a lightness pervade my chest, an azure calm settle about my shoulders. What would make me happy? Never having other peoples' happiness so brazenly in my face again. That, and the chance to reconnect, to finally debrief with an old friend I hadn't realised until this moment that I painfully missed. Christ. I think I might actually be smiling.

FIN


End file.
